Always the Hero
by Winchester and Winchester
Summary: Dean is near critically wounded on a lone hunt and he calls someone for help. The last memory she had of Dean Winchester was him slamming the door behind him, not to be heard from for five years. But she can't resist the need to help him when he calls. Original female character.
1. Chapter 1

"Dammit," Dean hissed, the sharp throbbing pain in his neck making it impossible to turn his head. The Impala responded eagerly to the quick turn then jerked over the bumpy road. He'd seen the cabin a few days back and it had looked uninhabited at best; barely standing at worst. Dean eased up on the gas, his eagerness to get to safety put on hold in favor of the car's suspension.

The Rugaru had come out of no where, he remembered with a wince. Blazing heat rising from his back to the bleeding cut just above his shoulder acted as an unwelcome reminder. He'd been hunting it alone for the past two days, ever since Sam got a call from someone he'd met when he was soulless. Sam decided that Dean could easily catch the Rugaru and left. Dean had thought the same.

The small lakeside cabin came into view and Dean let out a slow breath. He could feel the blood pumping from the wound, a warm trail sliding down his left arm. Slipping the gear into Park, Dean flicked the key down and out before uncomfortably reaching for the door latch with his right hand. His left arm was almost completely numb from the dangerously placed bite. Dean was no doctor but he knew that the Rugaru had gone for his main blood vessel.

And judging by the way he fought to keep his eyes from crossing and his head from spinning, the creature had gotten very close.

Dean straightened out of the car, leaning heavily on the door as he closed it. The cabin was indeed empty and run down but it would work. He, left arm safely tucked close to his chest, reached into the back seat through the open window for his back and swung it over his right shoulder. A groan escaped through gritted teeth.

He struggled to walk, keeping his eyes focused on each step. The green grass below his feet blurred and Dean blinked several times. His actions felt slow, like when something is played at half speed.

Finally he saw the cabin's ratty porch in his path. Lifting a heavy foot up the short step, he grunted, his heart pounding harder with each movement. The beating and throbbing in his arm were mismatched, one pounding harder than the other, but he couldn't figure out which. He heard himself mumbling, some kind of encouragement to himself to just get inside, but his own words didn't make any sense to him. They were oddly formed and barely audible.

With his body resisting every motion, Dean fell against the door for support, right shoulder hitting it and thrusting it open. He sucked in a breath when his legs collapsed beneath him and he hit the hard floor with a sickening thud. A moment passed and he didn't move, just squeezed his eyes shut and focused on breathing. In and out… in and… his body refused to release the breath for fear of the shooting pain that occurred every time his shoulders rose and fell.

He adjusted slightly, moving his right arm out from under his back and forcefully pressed his hand over the wound. His palm, immediately covered with blood, slipped over the gash and a cry caught in his throat. "Bitch," Dean mumbled through calculated breaths. "Son… of a… bitch."

The battle for consciousness was a losing one so he shifted and glanced around the room, taking in his surroundings. It was one large room with a cot on the far end, a small table with four chairs on the opposite side of the room with an old style kitchenette laying between them. The couch and chair lay closest to him. He carefully shifted, breathing out the tune of the song he'd been blasting the way to the Rugaru's house to distract himself, and sat up, leaning against the side of the couch. When his back made contact with the fabric, even under the many layers he wore, he felt as if someone ripped off a massive band-aid from the spot.

Dean had almost forgotten about the burn he'd gotten when he'd spun around and lit the Rugaru on fire with his lighter and bug spray. That part had been fine. It was when the creature reached for him and gripped his jacket that the burn had happened. He remembered the white hot pain drag from the nape of his neck down to waist and the motion now felt similar.

Though the tune he hummed was barely right, he continued as wiped his bloody hand over his jeans before pulling his cell phone from his pocket and dropping it on his leg, his shaking hand without the strength to hold it up. He wouldn't bother Sam, Bobby was dead, Garth wasn't an option… He swiped through the address book, focus fading quickly. Dean shook his head once roughly and looked back, clearing away some of the edging darkness from his sight. He spotted her name and through the fog in his mind, it seemed familiar. She must have been important to still be in his address book, but for the life of him he couldn't remember anything more than her name.

Almost without noticing his finger hit the Call button.

Dean found the Speaker button then leaned his head back against the damp smelling couch. A ring… silence. A ring… silence. Each time the ring faded then played again, Dean's heart jumped from the sudden sound. He felt as if he were walking on the edge of a cliff and each time he heard a noise, he almost fell but caught himself.

The ringing continued for a minute, then two, but no answering machine came on.

"_Hello."_

Through the ringing in his ears, Dean recognized her voice. His eyes rolled back under closed lids and he gave a humorless laugh. He knew the wait to pick up was intentional; she'd been considering bothering to answer him. "Erin."

"_What do you want Dean?"_ Her voice was barely pleasant but he could tell she was trying.

"I promise…" he grunted through another breath, his shoulder and neck on fire with pain. "I wouldn't have… called if this… if this wasn't an emergency." The last words formed on tight lips. Every gasp felt like the bite was ripping open a little more.

Dean wasn't sure if he couldn't hear her reply over the loud buzzing that had taken precedence over the ringing in his ears. Then he heard her sigh. "Where are you?"

He hadn't bothered to catch the road name, if the cabin was even on a real road, but he knew the area. "Lake Masota," he breathed, repeating it again when he realized she probably didn't hear him. "There's a cabin… abandoned… cabin…" He tried to form more words but his body refused.

"_Alright, I got it,"_ Erin said over the line. _"Just hang on, I'll be there in an hour. I'm not gonna hang up so just talk to me as long as you can, alright?"_ Silence answered her question. _"Dean?"_

Dean's head dipped limply to the side as the pain took over and he fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Keeping her word, she left her cell on the whole time she drove, occasionally saying Dean's name to see if he'd come to yet. Erin half wondered, half dreaded what she'd find in the cabin.

Erin drove the length of the lake twice, the first time missing the overgrown driveway, then directed her small car down the path, the vehicle jostling roughly. "Dean, I'm almost there," she said loudly, glancing down to the phone on the seat beside her. The small numbers kept growing, signifying how long she'd been on with him. 72 minutes and 3 seconds… 6 seconds…

The cabin came into view after a slight bend in the road, the large Impala seated nearby. As the trees cleared, her focus shifted to the lake. She'd come to Lake Masota a few times as a kid but hadn't ventured to the area for many, many years. It was just as she'd remembered. A few ducks squabbled nearby as they slipped into the water gracefully from the small shoreline. The house was only a stone's throw from the water's edge; an ideal spot, really. As she stepped out of her car and locked the door behind her, she thought of how beautiful it would be when the sun rose over the water and far off tree lined horizon.

Lake Masota was known for its beauty, with a forest surrounding almost every angle of the sixty mile long lake. Few cottages had been set up around it due to conservation and a ban on fishing but the cabin that stood here had probably been built long before the ban. Sighing, she turned away from the water and headed for the aged building.

Stepping onto the porch, she looked down, eyes widening. Drops of blood acted as a trail from the Impala to the front door, which lay open. Swallowing quickly, she walked in. "Dean?" Erin pushed the door open further, her gaze immediately landing on the body that was roughly seated on the floor against the couch. She rushed to him, dropping to her knees and taking in the visible damage. A wide gash lined the left side of his neck and blood covered the two shirts he wore beneath a leather jacket.

It wasn't the same jacket she remembered him in the last time they'd spoken, she thought absently.

"Hey, Dean?" A hand moved to the other side of his neck, feeling for a pulse. It was there; thin but there. Inhaling quickly, Erin noted the bag half slung over his shoulder and gently pulled it away, checking what he'd brought with him. Three rolls of white bandage lay inside along with some salve and a few changes of clothes. She almost smiled when she realized that was almost all he owned.

He looked different yet still the exact same. He'd aged, not so much in years but in character, she noticed. Lines of worry wrinkled his forehead even when he was unconscious and bags under his eyes made her assume he hadn't had a good night's sleep in years. And the innocence that she remembered seeing in him - well, maybe not innocence, but an intentional desire to hope, was gone. But still, he was Dean, and that hadn't changed.

Erin placed her hand on his right shoulder and gave him a slight shake, testing to see just how out cold he was. After a few more shakes with no result, she knew he wouldn't be waking up anytime soon and decided the best thing she could do for him was stop the bleeding, but to do that she would have to get his jacket off and get him on the couch rather than beside it.

Trying to be as careful as possible, and being very conscious of the blood that had yet to dry over the wound, she worked on removing Dean's right arm from his jacket. It took a moment of slow angling and quick glances to his face to make sure he wasn't in pain before his arm slipped out of the tight sleeve. She scolded herself for immediately taking note of how the plaid fabric clung to the toned muscles beneath. The young man she remembered seeing last had been quick to flaunt the slowly growing biceps that wrapped his arms.

They now suited him. Well.

Shaking her head, she shifted to his left and cautiously pulled the jacket by its collar from behind him. When he groaned, she stopped. "Dean?" she whispered again, unsure if he was waking or his body simply reacted to an unseen pain. When he made no reaction, she continued, trying to ignore his shallow breaths, knowing that leaving the coat on would do more harm than good. His left arm slipped out of the sleeve with ease and she tossed the jacket aside, the smell of alcohol and mild sweat wafting in the air as it moved.

She stared at him for a long moment, unsure of how to move him. He had at least 80 pounds on her and she wasn't overly strong by any means. Determining that waking him might be a good idea, for his sake and hers, she placed a hand on his chest and said, "Dean, come on, you've gotta wake up. I can't do this without your help and I need to move you so please… please wake up?" She continued talking and shaking him until he stirred, his head jerking up slightly and his eyes squeezing tightly shut against the afternoon sun that streamed in the nearest window.

Erin moved to block the sun and waited for him to focus on her when his eyes fluttered open. Slowly, and painfully, he lifted his head with a wince and caught her gaze. A flicker of recognition quickly veiled by discomfort. He shifted, his left arm limp at his side, and he groaned.

"Dean, can you hear me?" He didn't nod but she knew he could. "I'm gonna move you onto the couch, okay? I just need you to help me and then you won't have to move for the rest of the day." His eyes met hers quickly before he closed them and nodded once.

Lifting her knees from the ground but still crouching beside him, Erin slipped a hand around Dean's back and hefted his right arm over her shoulder. She grimaced at his obviously unwanted reaction when she tried to stand. He closed his mouth tightly in an attempt to hide any more groans but when she helped him up, his legs bearing some of his weight when they finally straightened, a jumble of curse words fell out.

"Sorry," she breathed, doing her best to make him lean on her but his stubbornness wouldn't allow that. Not to mention his height advantage over her. They moved to the couch quickly and he fell onto it with a grunt, careful to keep his left side safe as he landed against the back with his right shoulder. Erin turned to the bag and retrieved the bandages and salve.

His eyes were open but still seemed fuzzy. "Do you remember me, Dean?" she asked, hoping her tone sounded less interested than she was. They had met when he and Sam came to the Lake Masota area for a hunt five years back. She remembered him coming up to her in the bar with a small notepad and pad, his suit fitting in all the right places. She doubted he was a real FBI agent from the moment she looked him up and down, and he did the same to her, but she played along and answered his questions.

When his last question was for her phone number - and not for business purpose - she'd given a wide smile and did as he'd asked. He called her once and she talked him down from a one night stand to a proper dinner and though he was obviously thinking about other things through most of the date, he had been good company.

But then a demon and long talk later -

"Erin, right?" he asked, his speech slurred.

She glanced at him as she sat on the edge of the small coffee table that sat before the couch. "I'm surprised you remember." Unwinding some of the bandage, she watched him try to think past the blood loss to a witty comeback. Obviously finding none, he gave a one sided shrug, accompanied by an equally lopsided smile.

"Hard to forget."

Erin assumed that they would have plenty of time to talk in the coming hours so she set her curiosity aside. "Can you take off your shirt?"

One brow rise and his smile widened, though weakly. "First time in five years… and you're already -"

"Can it, tough guy. I need to clean it," she motioned to the bite "and your collars aren't gonna help anything. Besides I think you've got more to worry about then just that."

He hesitated, but only to calculate how much pain the movements would cause, then sat forward and began removing the long sleeved shirt. Air hissed between his teeth as he sucked in a breath when the fabric made contact with the open wound. Erin didn't help, knowing she wouldn't be of any help, and instead focused on finding towels in his bag.

Dean jerked his right arm out of the sleeve when his left was loose and dropped the shirt on the floor, his face flushed. He started to lean back but immediately sat forward again. "What happened to your back?" she asked, setting two barely folded towels on a pile.

He looked at her with a small smile. She found it amazing how even though he was still half asleep and no doubt dizzy from the blood loss, he still managed to look flirtatious. "The thing I burned believed in eye for an eye."

"The thing." Erin had seen first hand the things the Winchesters hunted but she hadn't heard or seen anything like it for five years. Now, talking about monsters as if they were real felt strange to her again.

Dean seemed to have stopped paying attention as his eyes drifted out the window and his right hand held tightly to the left arm that was obviously causing him pain.

"I'm guessing you don't have any soap in your car, right?"

His gaze snapped back to her. "What?"

"Soap? It's ideal for cleaning a wound." His eyes half closed in a slow roll. "But I guess you knew that."

"I don't have any soap. Just use alcohol." His voice was rough from not swallowing and judging by how slowly he was breathing, she guessed that he was trying to avoid moving his neck at any cost.

"Where's alcohol?" He motioned to the bag. Leaning down, she moved the clothes out of the way and saw a small flask on the bottom. Lifting it, she gave it a shake and glanced back at him. "Do you have any more alcohol?"

He smiled warily. "Supply run was tomorrow."

"Ah." There wasn't very much liquid left in the bottle but it would be enough to clean the wound - not enough for him to drink to dull the pain though. "Well," she sat next to him, careful not to move the cushion beneath them too much. "I know we didn't exactly part on good terms and I don't think this is gonna make you like me any more, so, I'm sorry."

"Just do it," he said through gritted teeth with a threadbare smile.

She sensed that they would talk about their past more later so she decided to distract him with other questions. "So, where's Sam?" Flask in hand, she uncorked it and let the droplets fall directly onto the open wound. He reacted with another hissing sound, eyes clamped shut, and body tense. She tried to work quickly, wiping away the excess and pressing a white cloth onto the area. Seeing the sweat forming on his forehead and his pained expression, she whispered another apology.

He began to reply but instead bit his bottom lip firmly, head tilting to the side to expose more of his neck to her but stiffening again from the shot of pain. "Sam… he's hunting somewhere else," he said between shallow breaths.

"Why?" She quickly got the picture that he wasn't interested in talking and just wanted her to hurry. Doing so, she added a few more drops and cringed when he cursed under his breath. "Just a few more seconds," she said absently, pressing the towel to the gash once more. Dabbing gently, she set the towel on the couch beside her and looked at his neck. The liquid had cleaned up some of the blood around it and she bit the inside of her cheek when she saw new blood slowly taking its place.

"What?" he asked, eyes closed, but knowing by her silence that something was wrong.

Erin sighed. "I'm gonna have to stitch it." He didn't react. "But you knew that already, didn't you?"

"It ain't rocket science. There's some thread and needles in the side pocket." He swallowed hard, expression a constant show of his pain.

She leaned down and retrieved them. The packet was similar to what she remembered seeing in her grandmother's yarn basket. "Taking up sewing, Dean?" she asked with a smile, taking some comfort in his quiet chuckle. Erin wasn't familiar with sewing a man but she had sewn some clothes as a teenager with her grandmother. She hoped it wasn't too different.

Knowing that prolonging it for her own sake was also prolonging his relief so she inhaled deeply, making her uneasiness a little too obvious. She caught his smile. "What?" she asked, hating herself for being so distracted by the smile.

"First time?"

Had the question come from anyone else, it wouldn't have unsettled her. But somehow the phrase, and the meaning she knew he was setting behind it, made her blush a little. Thankful to be seated at his side and not in front, she hoped he wouldn't notice. "Shut up."

He chuckled again.

"Now this'll probably hurt like hell so just -"

"Erin, this isn't my first time. Go on." His right hand made a waving motion for her to continue - and quickly.

He had no fear, she quickly came to realize. At least not that he showed. She was about to stick a needle into his skin and thread it through him several times, and he looked almost relaxed, except for his obvious discomfort. "Always the hero, huh?"

Dean sucked in a quick breath when her needle made the first entrance. "Yeah… somethin' like that."

She worked as fast as she could, thinking of how she'd been taught to sew and implementing the rusty knowledge, and also doing her best to ignore the fact that she was sewing a human and not fabric. It took nearly ten minutes for her to close the wound, with a few breaks to remind Dean to breathe. He didn't make any noise through the procedure but he did hold his breath almost every time the needle re-entered him.

"Alright, done," she said, surveying her work. It wasn't pretty but it would hold. "How's the arm?" She looked at his left arm, the one he still held tightly against him.

He glanced down stiffly. "Gettin' better. It was numb for a good while there but I can feel it now." His fingers stretched out and he winced.

"Give it time. Doesn't have to heal right away." She stood from the couch and gathered the needle and thread, towels, and flask. Placing them on the table, she exchanged them for the bandages and quickly unrolled the white material over the wound a few times. Taping it in place, she stepped back. "Alright, I think you're good."

Dean looked up at her and he opened his mouth, as if to speak, then closed it again and instead smiled. "Thanks."

Erin smiled in return, apprehensively. Even with the flush of pain in his face and the wrinkles in his brow, Dean Winchester was gorgeous. She had noticed it immediately upon their first meeting and she fought to keep from noticing it now.

"So." She turned away, packing his belongings back into his bag. "Why'd you call me?"

He sighed from behind her. "I saw your name in my phone and I called it."

She looked over her shoulder and saw him looking at her. "My number was still in your phone? After five years?"

"Yeah."

"Isn't that kinda weird?" She pushed down the flattery she felt from his honesty. "I mean you never called me except for that one time. Why'd you leave it in?"

His right shoulder lifted in a slow shrug and he looked out the window again. Erin finished putting the items back in Dean's bag and straightened, aware that that part of the conversation was over. "Alright well…" he looked back to her. "I'm gonna need to change that dressing in 12 hours."

"I know."

She glanced at her watch. "So that'll be 4 in the morning. I'm gonna set an alarm on my phone." As she pulled her call out of her jeans pocket, she looked up and saw him watching her intently. "What?"

He smiled. "Nothing." At her impatient stare, he added, "It's just that you actually came here and you're staying."

"Surprised?" she asked, knowing that she'dd been equally surprised to find herself actually getting in her car and driving to him after 5 years of silence.

"A little."

"Good." Erin's smile matched his. She walked to the front door, turned back, and said, "I'm gonna go get us something to eat. There's a burger joint about ten minutes from here. I'm gonna assume that your taste hasn't changed?" Dean seemed a little taken aback by her knowledge. "I'll take that as a yes. Be back in about half an hour - don't do anything stupid."

As she walked out the door, pulling it closed behind her, she released the real smile she'd been hiding for a while. There was something about this guy, something she couldn't put her finger on, that made her want to smile every time he looked at her. And she hated him for it because she just really wanted to hold a grudge.


	3. Chapter 3

"Here," Erin said as she held out a brown plastic bag, some fast food chain's logo prominently displayed on the front. "I got you a salad too."

Dean's eyes slowly traveled up from the bag to her eyes. "What for?"

She blinked several times. "To eat," she enunciated. When he continued to stare at her incredulously, she sighed and turned away. "It was worth a try."

"Hey, you could put it outside and attract some deer. There's nothing quite as relaxin' as deer watchin', I hear." Erin didn't have to face him for Dean to see her rolling her eyes; it was evident in the way her shoulders stiffened and how she almost groaned under her breath. Satisfied, Dean opened the two bags she had set on the small coffee table before offering the salad. Four burgers lay inside one and a bottle of Ginger Ale and fries in the other. "Ginger Ale?" he asked quietly.

Erin pulled the salad out of her bag and set it on the old kitchen table then turned back to him. "Yes. It's supposed to help for sickness and stuff and I figured it couldn't hurt." She gestured to it with a sarcastic smile. "Plus it has the word Ale in it so I figured you probably like it."

Dean bit back the onslaught of replies that wanted to roll of his tongue and instead smiled - genuinely. She was as quick witted as he remembered. "Thanks."

She seemed a little surprised. "You're welcome."

As she turned her attention back to her dinner and he clumsily unwrapped one of his own burgers with his useful hand, Dean wondered what she thought of him. He didn't have a good reason for why her number was still in his phone; he barely even remembered putting it in there in the first place. For one thing she was just a girl on a hunt five years ago, and for another, after the fight they'd had, he was confused as to why he hadn't removed the number immediately after.

Dean ate the first burger within a few minutes, his hunger becoming more and more evident as he ate. Breakfast had been a half drunk bottle of beer in the motel room but his stomach hadn't complained until now.

Unwrapping the second burger, Dean sat back, careful not to move his shoulder or neck, and gasped loudly when his burn hit the couch. He'd been avoiding moving and without movement, the discomfort had stayed at a minimum, but the burn immediately flared painfully when the fabric of his t-shirt and couch pressed against the blistered skin. He dropped the food on the coffee table and leaned forward, eyes closed.

"What's wrong?" Erin asked, hurrying to his side. She sat beside him and rested her hand on his left arm. He twisted away, foolishly, and the muscles in his neck tightened, causing the stitched bite to react.

"Dammit," he breathed and again louder.

"Dean, tell me." Her tone was even, determined. "It's your back, isn't it?" she asked, apparently remembering what he had intentionally not mentioned earlier. He didn't reply and instead kept his face turned away from her, tears burning in his eyes at the shots of pain coursing through his body. She tried to touch his back but he shrank away, this time cautiously. "Don't be an idiot, Dean, I have to look at it."

"No, you don't have to do anything," he replied through gritted teeth. Burns heal, he silently reasoned. No need for her to help him anymore than she already had. Sitting quietly without pushing her away before had tried his patience - no, stubbornness - and he wouldn't do it again. "I'll be fine." His voice betrayed him with a slight tremor.

Erin ignored him and stood, leaning with one knee on the couch as she leaned over him, hands running over the dark t-shirt with care. Her fingers brushed an edge of the burn and he inhaled sharply. "Sorry," she whispered. "Alright, I have to bandage it -" he began to respond "and you're gonna sit there and shut up. I mean it."

Dean realized she was serious and angrily bit his bottom lip to keep from responding. She had helped him, and he appreciated that, so he wouldn't voice the things going through his head. He was a terrible patient, he would admit to that. And so would Sam.

Dean's jaw clenched painfully tight at her touch. She sighed. "I'm gonna have to cut it."

His head snapped up, again renewing the throbbing in his neck and causing a wince. "What? Cut what?"

Erin walked to the small kitchen cabinets and searched through them, picking up some items to look under them. "Your shirt. You can't take it off with your arm the way it is."

He hated that she was right. Blood had begun to pump back into his numb arm but it was still weak and with his neck being as tightly bandaged as it was, he couldn't lift the shirt over his head.

Finally coming upon an old style scissors, she returned to him. He eyed the rusting pair and gave her a blank look. "You might have an easier time if you just rip it off."

"And as well as that line might work on the other girls you know…" She let the sentence hang with a smile as punctuation. He responded with a short chuckle. Angling herself with one knee on the couch cushion, Erin carefully set one side of the metal instrument against the base of his neck. He didn't audibly react but he flinched at the cold. "Sorry," she said again. "You want some ginger ale before I start?"

He gave a snort.

She began to tighten the scissors until it cut through the fabric and continued down his back, avoiding anywhere near the burn.

When the scissors finished at the bottom, a rush of cool air hit his back and he shivered. His body was probably fighting a fever, he assumed. Hearing her audibly swallow, he quietly asked, "That bad?"

"Yeah."

"What's it like back there?" he asked with a small smile, trying to push down the numbing and burning sensations that flashed across his upper back.

Erin stood back, eyes meeting his. "It's mostly in one spot - it's a big spot, but still."

"What color?"

"Red. Blotchy."

"Oh good. It's treatable."

Her head tipped to the side slightly. "How do ya figure?"

He felt his head begin to swim as the temperature of the room dipped from the sun's waning light. The exposed burn was still hot but the skin around was cool. A chill ran up his spine. "It's only second degree. Just get some…" He paused to close his eyes and focus on breathing, hoping that some extra oxygen would calm his pounding head. He squeezed the bridge of his nose as he continued, "Grab one of the towels and drown it in cold water." She did as he said, walking to the small sink. Though the taps looked old and useless, he was relieved to hear the squeal of released pressure as water poured out.

After a minute, the sound stopped and a he heard a few droplets hitting the sink as she squeezed out the excess water.

"And then?" She asked, walking back with the dripping cloth in hand.

Dean sat forward slowly and edged himself on the front of the cushion so his back was angled to her. "Put it on the burn." He bit his bottom lip, dreading the touch but knowing it was needed. She hesitated, seeing his preparation, but he flashed a quick smile before dropping his head. "Go ahead."

The cold towel touched the blistered area and Dean lost his balance. His right hand flew out and grabbed the arm rest, barely keeping himself in place. A wave of heat, immediately followed by ice cold, rushed over him but all he could focus on was staying upright. His back screamed in protest as the fabric pressed against bare nerves and he fought to keep from giving the screams a voice.

He knew she was apologizing repeatedly but he couldn't hear her over the expanding weight he felt in his head that seemed to cause the deafening squeal. He'd been burned before but never like this. From the width of Erin's cloth, the burn spanned most of the left side of his back.

Finally, after a few long seconds, the noise in his ears quieted and his eyes opened, gaining some balance from staring at the coffee table before him. Even if the table looked like it was swaying slightly.

"How long do I have to keep it there, Dean?" Erin asked, her voice filled with concern.

"J-just a few m-more minutes." His teeth chattered even while he tried to keep his jaw tight. The fever was getting the best of him and if she didn't get the burn soothed and bandaged soon, he knew he wouldn't be able to keep himself awake for much longer.

Erin tried to hold the wet cloth against him firmly but with every shallow breath he dragged in, he felt her pressure slip. Finally he noticed some relief as water soaked through the burn. "Okay," he said, almost too quietly for her to hear. "Now… if you can…" He struggled to form the sentence. "Just… put some of the… the stuff on it and bandage it." The last few words came out in a quick breath but she seemed to understand.

She gently pulled the towel away - he was thankful for the fabric not binding to his sensitive flesh - and knelt next to where the bag was still placed on the floor, retrieving the same gauze bandage roll and salve she had taken out earlier.

Dean's heart pumped strongly against his ribs, his body still compensating from the blood loss and shock of the burn, as his inner temperature tried to adjust itself. He felt sweat on his face even while he shivered.

"Are you okay?" Erin asked without looking at him as she worked on unrolling the bandage. He nodded weakly, finding the effort used to continue sitting up straight tiring. When she was finished with his back, all he wanted to do was lie down.

She set to work quickly, dabbing the edges of the burn gently with the dry towel before applying the gauze. He sucked in a quick breath at the first touch but bit his lip to keep from reacting more. When he tasted blood, he loosened his teeth's grip. Erin continued with the bandage and within five minutes, she had covered a good portion of his back with the soft material, careful not to wrap it too tightly so that he could move without fear of ripping it.

While Dean wished it had been Sam fixing him up, mostly because of his brother's superior knowledge with stitches and bandages, she had done a good job.

"Thank you," he said, glancing up to her with a smile.

She sat next to him, setting the now significantly thinner bandage roll on the coffee table. "You're welcome." She seemed tired. He wanted to say more, to thank her for coming and helping him, even when he was being a jerk. But no words formed in his open mouth.

Erin looked at him, as if hoping he would say something, then turned to look at her watch. "It's almost seven. Do you wanna sleep?"

"Yeah." He didn't care if she thought he was weak or anything, he was just tired. His eyes fell on the half opened burger on the low table. "Any chance that'll stay good til morning?"

"Ha," Erin replied with a one sided smile. "I doubt it. Don't worry, I'll get something tomorrow." She stood and walked to the kitchen table. Though he couldn't look at her for fear of moving his neck, he listened to the sound of fabric rubbing against fabric. After a moment she returned, a blanket in her arms. "I found this in my trunk."

He smiled up at her, somewhat sarcastically. "Thanks but I don't need a blanket."

She shifted her weight impatiently. "Look, tough guy, your back needs warmth and without a shirt, I don't care how hot you think you are, it's not gonna do the trick. So just lay down."

Dean, smile intact, carefully backed onto the couch fully and laid on his right side, head softly landing on the arm rest. Though his neck and back still hurt, the pain was significantly less than earlier. Erin draped the blanket from just below his bandaged wound and stretched it the length of the couch. She turned out, releasing a huff of frustration at him as she walked to the table - and her now cold and most likely stale food.

"Hey, Erin?"

"What."

His eyes drifted shut, against his will, and he felt himself slipping into the painless world of sleep. "Thanks."


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you for your comments so far, they've been very encouraging! Sorry for the delay on this, writing a background for an original character that involves an established character is actually really hard! But I hope it works :)_

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Erin couldn't remember the last time she had been so tired; physically and emotionally. Dean had fallen asleep several hours before and while she should have been able to join him in slumber, the chair that matched the couch was uncomfortable at best. Plus she found herself checking on Dean every hour just to be certain that he was alright.

And every time she did, she felt that familiar twinge in her stomach, the squeeze of her heart when she looked at his sleeping features. He was so calm, so without worry when he slept. His whole expression changed when he awake. The small boy that he mirrored when he was dreaming bore little resemblance to the war torn man that awoke.

It was nearing four a.m. when she stood and walked the short distance to him for the upteenth time that night, turning off the not yet sounding alarm on her dying phone as she did. The battery was quickly diminishing and she hadn't remembered to bring the charger.

She was growing extremely familiar with the small cabin, the faint smell of dust and wet wood from the logs that lined the walls, but she wouldn't miss it when they left. Having no experience with injuries and healing, Erin had little idea of how long Dean would take to heal. Days? Weeks? Months? But it wasn't the company that made her want the time to pass quickly, it was the feelings he stirred in her with a simple glance.

Sitting on the coffee table, she tucked her hands between her legs and looked at him, listening to the sound of his deep breaths. She remembered their fight so clearly. They had only known each other for all of three weeks but she knew he was different. Different from every other guy she knew but also so different from the guy he tried to be.

After the incident with the demon and Dean quietly explaining that monsters really did exist, she needed to know more. She quickly came to understand him when he told her of his past, vaguely, but with the major plot points in place. His mother had been killed when he was young and he and his brother took after their father in seeking revenge, which gradually turned into taking out that need for revenge on every other god forsaken creature they could find.

She understood that need for revenge all too well. And she'd tried to tell him, tried to explain that it didn't matter if it was a monster or a human that caused the pain, revenge would never fill the gaping hole that loss left in its wake. But he had been far from open to her sympathy. He took it as pity and told her that she didn't know him enough to pity him. As if she needed more time with him to find more reasons. She knew he was messed up. She saw her own vulnerability in him.

"You think you're the only one who's been hurt, Dean? You think you're the only one who's lost someone?" Her words had come out with more force than she'd intended but she was quickly growing tired of the wall he put up around himself.

His response was at an equal velocity.

"Oh yeah, that's what I think. Do you even understand what Sam and I do? Do you have any clue what kind of crap we see in a month? I get that other people are hurting and you know what? Sometimes I don't care. Sometimes I've just had enough with this whole freaking world hurting."

"And that's reason enough to block out people that care about you? Is that why you push people away?"

"You bet it is! People die, don't you get it? People that I care about, they die. It's as simple as that."

"That's not simple, Dean! That's ridiculous. Everyone dies. It has nothing to do with your or demons or whatever, it has to do with life. It's natural. So what? You really think that's reason enough to pack up and run away at the first sight of an emotion?"

He'd turned, walked to the door, pulled it open and without a glance over his shoulder, slammed it so hard that she felt the walls shake. And suddenly, her house felt cold and lonely. She'd listened to the Impala starting up and revving away, and that was the last thing she remembered of Dean Winchester.

Erin watched the same sleeping man and wondered if he'd changed at all. She'd never meant to feel things for the guy that walked into the bar that day, and she'd never expected to find him so against the idea. He seemed totally okay with a one night stand but the thought of something more, something that involved feelings, was out of the question. He'd been so used to watching people that he loved die that he'd grown accustomed to pushing people away for their own safety - and his own sanity.

Inhaling slowly, she shifted forward onto her knees, a hand resting gently on his exposed arm. The sliced t-shirt still surrounded his shoulders and front but his back, save the area covered by bandages, was open to the crisp air. Even though she meant to wake up, she immediately pulled the blanket up to cover him fully.

"Dean," she whispered. He stirred but didn't open his eyes. His eyes tightened and she assumed his body had become stiff because he hadn't moved at all in his sleep. She was unsure if it was normal or something he did on purpose when he was injured. "Hey, Dean."

"Yeah." His voice was hoarse and raw. She stood and walked to the table where she'd left the bottle of water she'd found in her car on the trip outside for fresh air at about midnight.

She walked back to him and crouched in front of him again. "Here." His eyes, still heavy, barely opened and focused on the bottle. One side of his lips curved into a tired smile. He adjusted slowly, still cautiously aware of the stitching and bandages, and propped himself up on his right elbow. She held the bottle to his lips and he tipped his head back. Erin watched him drink, wondering how hard it was for him to not only accept help, but without complaint. After a moment he shook his head and she set the bottle on the coffee table.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. I'm gonna change your -"

"Yeah, no problem." He pushed himself up to a sitting position, wincing.

"Sorry."

Dean smiled at her as she sat next to him on the small couch. "You really don't have to apologize." At her own exhausted smile, his fell. "You haven't slept, have you?"

The amount of energy it took for her to keep her eyes uncrossed was apparently more evident than she would have liked. "Not much," she lied, remembering every second of walking around or sitting somewhere in the confining building. "But I'm fine. I'm gonna start with your neck." She set the items she'd need on the low table and slowly began peeling away the bandages.

Electricity had apparently just become useful when the cabin was built because the system was far from ideal and the low voltage bulb that hung in the middle of the cabin did little to light it. But she saw enough.

The bandaging revealed the stitched wound and it looked good - not perfect, but good. It was healing and opening, which she was thankful for. Her fingers brushed the short hair behind his ears as she moved and her attention faltered. His hair was longer than she remembered but not my much. He obviously kept it well trimmed, yet it now had a more boyish look with longer untouched spikes. It looked soft and playful; which went against the stoic and stiff appearance he tried to portray.

"Look okay?" he asked distantly, his focus obviously on trying to keep himself awake and upright more than his cut.

"Yeah, it looks good. I think it's healing."

"Good."

His deep voice echoed in her ears and she wondered if it was the lack of sleep that was causing her to over-notice everything about him. She was the type of woman that went to bed at nine o'clock every night and was asleep by nine thirty, so it was no surprise that her mind was struggling. Deciding that it would be easiest to stay awake if she could concentrate on something else, she said the first thing she could think of.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah."

She sighed, carefully removing the last of the bandage before reaching for the gauze and unwinding it. "Do you remember the last night we talked… that I said I understood where you were coming from?"

His hesitation was deliberate, as if he was trying. "Yeah, I guess I do."

"I wasn't kidding."

Dean's shoulders rose slowly and fell even slower as he blew out a breath. "Okay."

Erin began placing the bandage over the stitching after a moment of letting it breathe. "See when I was 8, well actually when it was my Birthday and I turned 8, my Mom and I were gonna go to my favorite restaurant." She paused to see if he was paying attention. A few seconds passed and he turned to her as much as he dared to with the wound, curiosity in his tired eyes. She cleared her throat. "Well our car wouldn't start so we took a bus. I remember it being totally empty except for the driver. And then at one stop a guy came on. I could tell my Mom wasn't comfortable with him when he sat behind us. I didn't think anything of it but it didn't make any sense for him to pick the seat behind us when every other seat was available.

"Anyways, after a few minutes he stood up and he had a gun and he demanded my Mom give him her purse. She gave it to him and kept begging him not to hurt us." She hadn't expected the vivid memories that accompanied the story she had long ago buried. Talking about it now opened up every door she'd deliberately slammed shut.

"And?" Dean's voice was gentle, soft.

"And after he took her wallet, he tried to get off the bus but he saw that the driver had called 911." Her voice stopped and she swallowed hard against the hated emotions she felt in her throat. "He got so mad and he just… he just started shooting." Her hands slowed and fell to her side as she finished with the dressing.

Even though he knew that his back still needed attention, Dean shifted and sat facing her. She kept her eyes from his and jumped when she felt his hand rest over hers. "M-My Mom… she got shot in the head twice. I watched her die right in front of me."

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

She sniffled and breathed unsteadily. "They never caught the guy." Her eyes slowly rose and met his. "I understand that helpless feeling. Knowing that someone you care about died because of you… that doesn't go away. And that desperate need for revenge, it doesn't help. It just eats away at you and before you know it, it totally consumes you." Erin was amazed by the honesty in Dean's eyes. Even though he said nothing, she knew that he was understanding everything she said. "So, yeah, I understand you."

He nodded slightly but didn't respond.

"And I also understand that you can't let it rule you. You can't push people away because you think you'll get them killed. It took me a long time to realize that it wasn't my fault. That just because I was there and I was the reason that we were on that bus… it wasn't my fault." She remembered heaping blame on herself, hating herself more and more every day when she thought about how they never would have been out. Many years passed before she saw that forcing people who cared about her out of her life did little to ease the loss. It only made it worse.

"Yeah," Dean said with a sigh. She could almost see him thinking, trying to place her story in his mind and where it belonged in reference to him. "You'd better get back to it." His smile was small but genuine as he turned away and angled his back to her.

Erin felt no disregard in his dismissal and she smiled to herself. The facade that Dean wore was slipping away and he didn't seem to care. Maybe it was the fever he was fighting, maybe it was from the stress of the last day, or maybe he was genuinely tired of forcing himself to be stronger than he was.

Not that he was weak, she thought. Not by any stretch. He was the strongest person she knew, but he used his strength to portray a careless front. Something in her longed to know everything about him even though she knew he would never tell her. He cared enough for her to call for help but she doubted she would ever mean more to him than that.

The bandaging on the burn came off just as easily and the red and calloused skin looked good, all things considered. She quietly relayed what she saw to him and he nodded, saying that it felt better too.

"You could become a nurse," he said as she worked.

She gave an abrupt laugh. "Oh. Yeah."

"Why not?"

"I just don't want to." She didn't voice the sentence that followed in her head. Mom was a nurse.

She rebandaged the burn and glanced at her watch when she finished. "4:27," she read aloud.

Dean shifted again, facing her. "You need to get some sleep."

Everything in her screamed in agreement. "I know, but I… can't." She glanced around the familiar room. "There's no where to lay and -" She stopped when he started to stand. "What are you doing?" Obviously still unsteady from the blood loss, he froze and stared straight ahead. She stood, grabbing his arm. "Dean, what are you doing?" She gently pushed him back down.

He closed his eyes tightly and smiled. "I'm gonna go sleep in my car… if I can get to it."

"What? No you're not. Don't be an idiot."

His eyes met hers. "I think the word you're lookin' for is gentleman."

Her lips curved when she understood what he was doing. "I'm not letting you sleep in your car so I can get the couch. I'll be fine, I'm not the one who's healing. You need all the comfortable sleep you can get."

"Believe me, my car is a lot more comfortable than this couch."

She smiled. "Well thanks so much for offering to let me sleep on the uncomfortable couch then."

He responded by lifting himself just enough to push his hands into the pocket of his jeans and hold up a small set of keys. "You wanna take the car then?"

"I have my own car, Dean," she said with a mix between a chuckle and a scoff.

He shrugged carefully and gave in. "Alright. Well don't say I didn't try."

She shook her head. "I won't." Erin stood, lifted the blanket that had been pushed to the side of the couch and shook it gently, placing it over Dean when he laid down. "Sleep well."

His eyes were closed and she could tell he was already fighting sleep. "Yeah, get some sleep yourself." His words slurred as he fell back into unconsciousness The effort used to stand up had apparently been too much for him.

But it was the gesture that counted and she appreciated it. Erin walked to the chair and sat down, surprised to find it more comfortable now. Or maybe her body was tired enough to accept anything as comfort. She sank into the bulky cushion and leaned her head back, crossing her arms over her chest. Listening to Dean breathe, she recounted what she'd said to him and realized that she had told him what she specifically kept from everyone else she met. No one knew about her past, not even the people that had adopted her. They only knew that her mother had died.

She kept the truth buried but somehow unlocking the facts and sharing them with someone made her feel as if a weight had been lifted. It took her far too long to get over what happened, to really realize that blame didn't always have to settle on her. She didn't know if Dean would take anything she said to heart but she sincerely hoped he would.


	5. Chapter 5

_**So** sorry for the delay! I got a cold a few weeks back and that just wiped out my inspiration totally and I've been writing a few sentences a day to catch up but it wasn't working. Then the other night I finally got it done. Please enjoy!_

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"We need beer." Erin's eyes slowly opened and focused on Dean. He was sitting on the couch, elbows resting on parted legs, and chin resting on folded hands. He flashed a quick smile, feeling much better than the day before.

She sat up, obviously immediately regretting moving when the muscles that had stiffened overnight tightened in her back. He could relate but he wouldn't mention the spasms in his lower back. They were nothing in comparison to yesterday's events and he was thankful for the relief he had. "Good morning to you, too," she said with a grunt as she stood.

His smile widened and he watched her as she walked to the table. "We need beer."

"Yeah, I heard. Need is kind of a strong word though."

"Hey, this soft and cuddly exterior you see has an expiration date without it."

Erin glanced back at him, scoffing quietly but he saw her hidden smile. "I wondered how long it would last."

He shrugged, noting that there was no shot of pain from his neck. "What can I say, a man has needs." Shaking her head at him, she drank the remaining liquid in the water bottle and set it back on the table, looking at her watch. He did the same. He'd guessed by the growing sunlight outside that it was nearing 7 a.m. and the digital numbers confirmed it.

Dean had woken up before 6 but chose not to wake Erin. Instead he sat up and stretched carefully, working the muscles that had grown tense from the way he'd held his left arm yesterday. His back still felt warmer than the rest of his body but the burn too was healing properly.

Erin walked to the window and leaned against the frame, arms crossing. "It's beautiful," she said quietly as she took in the scene that lay before the cabin. He wasn't one for appreciating the beauty of land but he wouldn't disagree with her. The sun slid up and over the horizon of trees and the water reflected its rays with what looked like thousands of shimmering diamonds. "What kind?"

His eyes drifted from the lake to her. "What?"

"What kind of beer do you want?" She looked exhausted but determined not to show it, he noted when she turned to face him.

His lips curved. "Brown. Usually in liquid form."

Her eyes slowly rolled up. "Yeah. I figured as much."

"Doesn't matter what kind," he said with a smile, enjoying the teasing but deciding he should at least make an attempt to ignore the sarcasm that was on his tongue in place of every good reply.

Erin breathed a chuckle and pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're lucky I came, Dean. But you're even luckier that I'm coming back." She strode to the table, picked up her purse, and stopped at the front door. "I'm gonna go home and take a shower then grab some breakfast and beer. I'll be back in a few hours. Are you okay alone?"

"I really do wish I had a teddy bear or something to keep me company, but I think I'll be okay."

She stared at him, tongue pressing against her cheek. Dean kept himself from grinning at her frustration, silently berating himself for not following the one simple order he'd set for himself. She let out a long sigh and glanced away. "I'll be sure to pick one up with your Happy Meal."

He managed a quick 'thank you' before she closed the door behind her. Dean smiled, hearing her laugh when she thought she was out of earshot. A moment later, the sounds of a card door slamming and the motor turning over filled the small cabin. Dean waited until all sounds faded before he stood, tensely. His legs had regained some strength and he supported himself without wavering. He stretched his arms out in front of him and smiled at the lack of pain. Sure, his body was tight and far from fully healed, but he felt much better.

His right hand dragged over his face before moving to his hair and raking through and he winced. He hadn't showered in three days, having planned to shower yesterday after killing the monster, but that didn't quite go as planned. He glanced around the floorplan and sighed. Naturally, no shower.

Dean slowly walked to the door and pulled it open, closing his eyes at the fresh air and warm sunlight that greeted him. His body complained quietly as he moved down the steps and towards the outhouse, glancing at the lake as he did. A long dock made its way from the grassy beach well into the lake, probably to where it was deep enough to jump in.

The whole scene reminded him of where the boy in the water had been. The smells were similar too; pine and trees of all kinds giving off a mixture of scents, the unnameable aroma that came from the water when the sun met its reflection. He thought to his options for bathing and realized that the biggest source of water he had was right in front of him.

After using the outdoor facilities, Dean walked to the lake, a smile forming as he thought to how Erin would react if she returned and found him in the water. He glanced toward the path that led through the trees and disappeared around a bend. She did say she wouldn't be back for a few hours, he thought, smile growing. Besides, he was already halfway undressed.

He'd been cold overnight with the absence of his shirt but the sun and warm wind kept him comfortable now. Dean carefully kicked off his left boot and stepped on the front of his sock with his other boot, pulling his left foot out while keeping the sock in place. He stepped closer to the lake and placed the exposed skin into the liquid. There was almost no difference between the outdoor and water's temperature.

Dean quickly considered the impact water would have on his bandages as he released his other boot and sock in the same manner. The cloth bandage was waterproof and he'd showered with bandages on many times before. Immersion in a lake wouldn't be any different.

He tested how swimming would feel as he spread both arms out to his side and the stitched wound on his neck made little complaint. He winced a little when he felt the stitches stretch, but there was almost no pain.

Dean rarely swam for pleasure. The only times he would swim was generally to save someone who was drowning, if the situation demanded it. But something about the water now and his desire for a thorough wash called at him. With narrowed eyes and a sly smirk, he flicked the button of his jeans out of the loophole and shifted his weight from one foot to the other until they were low enough to kick off.

With a smile, he stepped into the water and kept walking until it was waist deep and then slowly lowered himself until the water was around his neck. He felt no liquid seeping through both bandages so he stood again and continued walking, his steps going deeper and deeper into the soft ground beneath. When it felt easier to swim than walk, Dean carefully paddled in the water, one arm in front of the other, slowly pulling himself further from shore. It felt good to be active. His body had stiffened in just one day of bare use and he didn't like the feeling.

He dipped his head beneath the cool liquid and came up with a measured breath. Water fell from his unkept hair and dripped over his shoulders when they rose as he swam. The burn gave the most annoyance with a few sharp stabs but they were minor in comparison to last night. He thought again to how well Erin had worked on him, especially under the circumstances.

Sam often mumbled about how crappy of a patient Dean was but Erin ignored his remarks or returned them with her own witty snaps. He enjoyed the exchanges and found himself enjoying her company - far beyond what he'd expected.

Dean slipped under the water again, allowing himself to sink instead of swimming forward and just taking in the feel of the water enveloping him like a blanket, surrounding him at every turn. But his lungs began to burn the longer he held his breath and he pushed up, dragging both hands over his hair when he emerged. He scrubbed absently at the wet spikes, reveling in the freshness he felt all over his body.

This was definitely needed.

But when he heard a noise towards the cabin, he swung his arms to turn himself and couldn't hide the grin that came with seeing Erin on the shoreline, arms crossed in front of her and a steel gaze he could almost feel.

"Come on in, the water's great," he called, his voice traveling over the placid water to her. He didn't quite understand the string of words that she spoke but he didn't have to. He got the idea.

Erin started on the dock towards him and he dunked his head beneath the water before she could speak. He did hear "You son of a bitch" just before he went under though.


	6. Chapter 6

**There is just no excuse for this long wait. But I'm gonna try to make a decent one anyways. I've been in the middle of this chapter for a long time, trying to figure out how things should happen or what to do and bah, it took a long time. So sorry!**

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"Crap," Erin breathed out slowly, dragging out the word after noticing her missing cellphone. She'd meant to bring it with and charge it at home but had apparently left it on the table next to the purse she had remembered to bring.

She'd barely hit the main road when she swung the car into a rough u-turn and headed back down the dusty path. It wasn't her fault, she reasoned, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter with both hands. Dean had been especially obnoxious - and ridiculously sexy - this morning. Obnoxious with his words but sexy in appearance. He had mastered the art of balancing the two.

Erin's thoughts quickly shifted to how much he'd changed since she had seen him last. Barely in appearance, but definitely in spirit. He had seen his share of grief and pain, that much was obvious. But it was the mistrust bubbling beneath the surface that caught her off guard. It wasn't intentional, she didn't think. He didn't purposefully keep people away or tell himself not to trust anyone, it had become natural.

She wondered just how many times he'd been betrayed in the past to make him so wary of others.

The car eased into the same spot it had been before, next to the Impala, and hurried out, leaving the keys in the ignition. But her steps slowed when she noticed the front door open. She felt a tingle run down her spine. Had something happened? She glanced at her watch. She'd been gone less than 10 minutes.

A sense of unease grew as she neared the porch and slowly walked up, eyes darting to the windows that adorned either side of the door before stepping inside. He was gone.

"Dean?" She didn't bother to hide the panic that edged at her tone. "Dean!"

Erin heard a distant noise and turned, focus jumping all around the lake before settling on the water itself. And the man within. She stood completely still, dumbfounded. What on earth had possessed him to not just get up but go for a swim?

She slowly walked off the porch and toward the long dock, anger growing. He had dropped out of sight, into the water, and she waited for him to emerge on the shore, arms crossing in front. Erin bit the inside of her cheek, words forming in her head that she couldn't wait to spill towards him. How could you, what were you thinking, are you an idiot, and other such topic starters all sounded good.

Dean was a fair ways out in the lake and she couldn't help but notice how small he looked against the vast scenery when he came up for air, his gasp barely heard from the distance. She cleared her throat, loudly, and waited for him to turn. When he did, his smile grew. "Come on in, the water's great!" he yelled.

"How could you be so stupid?" she asked as she stepped onto the dock. "You have bandages on - two bandages - and I don't really feel like peeling them off and starting all over again because you felt like taking a swim." She caught his teasing grin and knew that this wouldn't end quickly. "You son of a bitch." Her mouth formed before she even thought it. Dean was angering. No, he was infuriating. And at that moment, somehow, she was fully capable of pushing away the bells chiming in her head at the sight of his spiky hair covered in gleaming droplets.

Dean was a masterpiece, and he knew it. What he didn't know, however, was that the playful smiles coupled with his wet appearance was enough to send any girl over the ledge of sanity. However Erin held fast to the ledge and let out a few choice words as she reached the edge of the dock. Glancing back to her car, she sighed. Probably should have turned it off.

He emerged once more, a few feet from the dock, and kept himself there with a few broad strokes to the side.

Erin pulled in a deep breath, knowing that arguing with him when he was in this mood would get her no where. "What were you thinking? Honestly. Please, tell me."

"I shower."

She stared at him, waiting for an explanation, but he instead punctuated the too-short sentence with a sideways smile.

"Congratulations," she stated with a curt nod. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You do realize that bandages get wet in the shower and a pond really isn't too much different than a shower?"

"Except that you're covered in water." He looked to visibly choke back a response, but she understood. "Yes, I know. You get covered in water in a shower. Shut up."

His smile grew.

"Would you please just get out? I have to go home and I can't go if I think you're gonna drown." She motioned to the shore in hopes of compliance. But when she looked back and her eyes took note of his muscular arms treading slowly, she momentarily forgot why she wanted him to get out of the water. She hated him for being so distracting.

He tilted his head slightly and made a clicking noise with his tongue. "I don't think so."

"Dean, I'm serious."

"So am I. I'm fully capable of swimming, Erin."

"But your neck -"

"Is fine. You did a damn good job with those stitches."

She planted her hands on her hips. "Are you trying to distract me with compliments?"

His lips curved to one side and the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes tightened. "Why, is it working?" Erin turned and walked a few steps, almost determined to leave him there, then stopped when he quietly said, "Alright, fine."

She looked back over her shoulder. "Fine what?"

"Fine, I'll come out." He made a few forward strokes until he was at the dock, placed one hand on the wooden ledge, and held his other hand in the air. "Help me?"

As soon as her hand grasped his, she realized her mistake. It was stupid, of course. With how he had been acting, she should have known that there was no way he would just give in like that.

His hand tugged hers roughly and not even a second later, she was in the water. Erin came up and gasped, toying between just how she wanted to kill him. Slow, definitely His smug smile only added fuel to the fire. "I told you the water was nice," he said.

She kept herself above the cool water, but the light sweater she wore weighed her down. Water seeped through the layers of fabric and caused her clothes to cling tightly to her, making her every motion slow and difficult.

"I will kill you," she mumbled as she fought to make her way to the dock, going through every paddling motion she could without letting herself be dragged down. He moved to help her but she pushed him away, the movement having far less umph behind it than she wanted with the water's restraining pace. "So was this your plan all along? Get me to come out here and help you and then get me all wet?" And in another moment of wishing she could hit rewind, Erin let out a groan and closed her eyes. Wow. Well said, she thought. Giving her head a quick shake, she gripped the dock and sighed. If there was ever a day to not wake up…

When she worked up the nerve to open her eyes and face him, she found his smug grin gone, replaced by a very serious expression. He had obviously heard her easily misinterpreted sentence, but mercifully chose to let it go. In fact he seemed distracted by something else.

"What?" she asked, suddenly feeling uncomfortable under his intense gaze. She recognized the look in his eyes. That gleam that was far from evil but nowhere near innocent either. It was the look he'd given her in the bar the night they had met. It was the look that led to their first kiss.

He made no reply but instead moved closer to her, the water seeming to gently push them together. Her eyes slipped closed when his one hand raised to hold the dock to keep himself near her and the other touched her face. He gently traced her chin before brushing her tangled hair over her shoulder. She felt overdressed and naked at the same time. Something about being covered by water up to her shoulders made her feel vulnerable.

"Have I said 'thank you' yet?"

A wave slowly lifted her as he closed the distance between them. She didn't look at him, her heart already squeezing without the additional sight of him to make her weak. "For what?" she asked, her voice giving a betraying shake.

She felt his breath on her face just before he kissed her. Erin couldn't move, crushed under the weight of a hundred memories that came with the kiss. She had been able to keep herself from thinking about him in the years that they hadn't spoken, but the hardest part was forgetting his kisses. The way he teased by softly pressing his lips to hers and waiting for her response. The way her entire body, from head to toe, felt alive and burned at his touch.

Dean pulled back when she made no movements and her eyes warily opened. She took him in, flushed, wet, tongue flicking over his lips, and all sense she had dissipated, forgotten in favor of desire.

She let go of the dock and closed the distance between them, her hands wrapping behind his neck and holding herself above the water. His right hand gripped the wooden anchor while his other cupped her cheek. The taste of him, the feel of him pressed against her, and the added sensations that the cool water offered caused Erin's mind to spin - and she made no effort to grab hold of anything.

He felt so good against her. It was as if no time had passed and the days they had spent together in the past hadn't ended badly - or ended at all.

Her fingers moved from his soft hair and wandered toward his broad shoulders, the feel of his velvet skin, with the added smoothness of the water's touch, warming her. But when her hand grazed the wide bandaged, she pulled back, breath coming in a gasp. Dean's eyes opened and focused on her. "Y'okay?" He asked, his words slurring as he seemingly struggled to gain control of his thoughts.

"Yo.. Your neck." Erin swallowed and shook her head, the motion splashing Dean in the face.

"What about it?" Dean asked, sending a quick glance to the area of his shoulder he couldn't properly see.

"Is it okay? I mean does it hurt?"

His eyebrows quirked. "That's what you were thinking about?"

She let out a laugh and dipped her head back, water tickling her as she did. "No, I didn't - I mean, no. I just want to make sure you're okay."

Dean's voice was agonizingly low and hoarse as his whispered, "I'm okay." His hand slowly slipped around her waist and pulled her against him again. Her shirt lifted slightly against the slight current from the motion and her bare midriff met his. He kissed her again, deeply, the kind where she couldn't, or rather didn't want to, catch her breath. She felt his heart pounding against her skin and his hand soon trailed down and found where the shirt had shifted.

"Dean," she mumbled when they parted for air, his forehead resting against her's.

"Mmm?"

"What am I supposed to do now?"

"Right now?" His voice was raw from the kiss and her heart fluttered at the sound. She kept her eyes closed in a determined effort not to look at him. The sight of his bare shoulders and the teasing sight of his naked chest under the clear water was enough to end her ability to think and talk altogether.

"No, little-bit-later-now."

He let out a low moan. "Cross that bridge when we come to it?" he offered in a questioning tone, obviously hoping that would be enough to satisfy her.

She chuckled. "That's the worst answer I've ever heard."

His lips met her neck and she tilted her head back, granting him more access. Her breath hitched as he gently sucked at the tender skin below her jaw. On second thought, his answer didn't sound half bad.


End file.
